


Powerful

by altered_eagle



Series: City Goblins [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bruce Wayne and feelings, Caretaking, Frenemies, He also needs a good dicking, Hurt/Comfort, It's taking me forever but i'll never abandon it i promise, M/M, Medical, Romance, Sickfic, Temporary truces, The Joker needs a hug, You guys i swear i work on this fic every day, and gets several, and gets that too, because it's the only genre i'll ever write, because sometimes Batman and the Joker get along, big surprise i wrote more sickfic too, in their own way i suppose, only sometimes though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:24:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altered_eagle/pseuds/altered_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The next time their paths cross, the sky has opened up and soaked Gotham in the new warm rains of may...</i><br/>Batman may not have a soft spot when it comes to the Joker, but Bruce Wayne's got one a mile wide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read [the others in this series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/268030) you might not fully understand the dynamics between Bruce and the Joker here but shit i'm not gonna tell you what to read and what not to read. 
> 
> This fic is (as always) named after a song: Powerful by Major Lazer. You should maybe click on the link at the beginning of the story and give it a listen. It's a bit sappy but i think it conveys all the feels that my Bruce Wayne and Joker don't talk about. And don't worry folks, this one is gonna get sexy.

[Powerful: Major Lazer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7OCgi7rANc)

The next time their paths cross, the sky has opened up and soaked Gotham in the new warm rains of may. 

Around seven o’ clock the nimbus clouds begin to break up letting the setting sun come through enough to cast streaks of orange and gold and crimson across the skyline, and all the windows on all the skyscrapers and  
all the new puddles strewn across the slick wet asphalt reflect that same bright sky, and for a while the whole city glows. 

Bruce Wayne has been Batman for thirty-three hours straight and Batman doesn't have time to admire the sunset or sleep or get a cup of coffee because Gordon finally came back to him begging for help in stopping whoever was sporadically poisoning the city's water supply _and_ in figuring out where the fuck had the Joker disappeared to now that he’d broken out of Arkham again

and it takes every bit of patience that Wayne still possesses not to storm out on all of them, to 

tell Gordon in his loudest angriest Batman voice to FUCK RIGHT BACK OFF TO THAT WORTHLESS INCOMPETENT HERD OF MALL COPS THAT YOU CALL YOUR POLICE FORCE AND HAVE THEM DO SOME OF THE DIRTY WORK FOR A CHANGE 

it takes every atom of will that Wayne has left to not stop dead in his tracks 

in the middle of the rooftop he was running across

and forget about the chase, turn around, head home.

Wayne’s back hurts and his knees hurt and his ankles hurt, but he keeps on running through the red sunset shadows keeps  
splashing through pale pink puddles of fresh rainwater, he keeps on running until he can reach the edge of the rooftop and jump and then there’s nothing but air below him and the wind rushing past him catching his artificial wings, letting him drift

it’s not really flying.

It’s just falling with style. 

 

Batman sails for well over a mile and then he’s landing hard on the asphalt next to where the Tumbler is parked and the landing sends shockwaves of pain up through his shins but he’s used to it. 

One second Wayne is opening the cab and cursing softly as his ankle throbs and the next second

his entire body jolts in shock because the Joker is sprawled out in the passenger seat of the Tumbler, wrapped in his purple trenchcoat, out cold. Wayne stares in surprise for a few seconds then quickly scans the area to make sure they're alone before he removes his cowl, then one of his gloves, he’s 

reaching out to tap the Joker’s shoulder while squaring his stance just in case the clown attacks but Wayne can already see that something’s wrong with him; he’s sweating and shivering he’s either ill or injured or high or

the Joker’s eyes open. He smiles up at Wayne and says

_Hey._

Their gazes lock and the two men regard one another for a moment and then Wayne asks _can you tell me why you’re sitting in my tumbler?_

_This thing is called a tumbler?_

_What the hell are you doing in my car._

_i don’t feel so hot._

_Obviously._ Wayne’s fingers are brushing against the other man’s forehead, the Joker’s skin is far too warm. _But why are you here._

_i was in the hospital at Arkham. i left. i don’t want to go back there._ The Joker’s voice is pure gravel, his throat sounds wrecked and he’s wincing every time he speaks. His facepaint is beginning to streak from sweat and there’s something flickering behind his black hole eyes that Wayne has never seen before can’t quite identify but now

he does know what the Joker wants, Wayne knows why the Joker is here

sitting in his car

looking into his eyes

appealing to that stupid god damned soft spot in his stupid god damned heart then

before he even realizes he’s doing it Wayne is climbing into the driver’s seat, closing the cab, he’s pressing the backs of his fingers against the clown’s cheek frowning as he feels a fever burning beneath the facepaint. The Joker leans into Wayne’s hand makes his heartbeat jump sends electric chills sweeping up and down his spine. He strokes his thumb  
once  
twice  
three times across the Joker’s cheekbone before he pulls away, turns on the ignition. White paint clings to the tip of his thumb.

He focuses on the road and definitely not on the too-shallow breaths of the man beside him. 

Definitely not on the pained face the man beside him makes every time he swallows, when he clears his throat to say

_You’re a doll, Bruce Wayne._

_Shut up._

_i missed you too._

Wayne bites back a grin and keeps driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line "It's just falling with style" is from Toy Story.
> 
> And fuck all of Batman's other vehicles, i love the nolanverse Tumbler. That thing is a fucking badass so i've kept it as Batman's primary transportation in this story. All comments are welcome, i love reading them, thank you <3


	2. Chapter 2

_Were they giving you a hard time at Arkham?_

The Joker rolls his eyes. 

_And you want to stay with me for a little while?_

The Joker nods. 

_All right,_ Wayne hears himself sigh. _All right._

* * *

By the time the elevator reaches Wayne’s penthouse the Joker is leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed but he manages to stay on his feet as they cross the foyer  
the living room  
the master bedroom and god

Wayne can’t believe he’s doing this again can’t believe he’s dragging Gotham’s most dangerous criminal into his bathroom again  
catching him as his knees finally buckle then

all other thoughts are driven from Wayne’s mind as he helps the Joker sit on the bathroom floor checks his pulse (around 120) checks for injuries (bruising on the left shoulderblade, knuckles are raw and bloody but no discernible breaks) feels his lymph nodes (swollen) takes his temperature (103.4) brings him some water (he doesn’t drink it) pinches the skin on the back of his hand then

the Joker is leaning over the sink breathing hard and Wayne is at his side in a second steadying him. 

_Do you feel sick?_

_No,_ the Joker mutters. His makeup is dripping down his face splattering the porcelain with little drops of red and black and white. _i just need something to spit into, i can’t really swallow._

_Because your throat hurts?_ The Joker nods and accepts the trash bin that Wayne pushes at him, spits out a long string of watery saliva and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.  
He doesn’t act like he’s in pain but he looks awful.  
His movements are slow, his usual tics and twitches are all but absent.

Wayne helps the Joker sit on the floor again, turns on the cold tap to soak a washcloth the  
sympathy is uncurling and tendriling through his nerves and reaching into his stupid god damned heart prodding at the stupid god damned soft spot that he apparently harbors for the madman in front of him the same man who has inflicted so much violence and havoc upon His City  
the same man who has nearly ended his life dozens of times  
who saved his life once  
who gave him the best blow job of his life once  
who is now slumped up against Wayne’s bathtub with a soft smile on his face with misery pooling in his eyes that he can’t hide

Wayne sits across from him unbuttons his purple pinstriped shirt runs the cold wet cloth over his forehead his throat his collarbone Wayne is

leading him to the sofa in the bedroom

tucking a quilt up around his shoulders 

stroking his faded green curls and murmuring _what the hell am i going to do with you._

_Whatever you want babe,_ the Joker rasps and nuzzles his cheek into Wayne’s hand and Wayne smiles because it’s the most spirit the clown has shown all night.


	3. Chapter 3

_You’re at least ten pounds heavier with your coat on_ , Wayne remarks from where he is kneeling on the floor with the Joker’s great purple trenchcoat puddled in his lap.

_You’re at least twenty pounds heavier with your armor on,_ the clown replies. _The kevlar's pretty lightweight but still. All the equipment adds up._ He leans over the edge of the sofa and spits into the trash bin by his head. _And i would know, there was that one time i had to haul your unconscious ass around in that suit for like half an hour._

_It wasn’t that long._ Wayne automatically passes the Joker a tissue and continues searching the endless pockets, comes up with a pack of cigarettes two lighters three knives a few crumpled joker cards (no make that four knives no make that five) a straight razor a makeup compact a full pistol magazine and Wayne doesn’t want to know just how the Joker managed to accumulate this much over an eighteen hour span while he was exhausted and weak and running a one hundred and three degree fever  
at last  
Wayne’s fingers touch what feels like a pill bottle and he extracts it, holds it up for the Joker to see and sets it on the coffee table.

_There are more_ , the clown tells him. _Can't you hear them rattling around in there?_

_Yeah but every time i think i come close it's a fucking decoy pocket,_ Wayne snaps. _Give me a second._ He discovers a potato peeler a scalpel six rubber bands and finally the other two orange pill containers. He lines up all three on the coffee table in alphabetical order:

azythromycin  
hydrocodone  
promethazine

_So you do have an infection then,_ Wayne says quietly. _Are these all of the medications you were prescribed?_

_Should be. And the red flash drive has my medical chart on it if you wanna check._

_Flash drive?_ Wayne pokes at the corners of the empty pocket. _Okay, fuck this._ He stands up turns the coat upside down and begins shaking it despite the Joker’s protests

until everything has fallen out

and there are ballpoint pens and pills and loose bullets littering the carpet, 

rolling all over the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the Joker talks about hauling Bruce's unconscious ass around, he's referring to a situation that took place during [Lemonade.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1422436)


	4. Chapter 4

** ANAPHYLAXIS. **

Wayne’s eyes rip across the word over and over and over again then over his laptop screen at the man sprawled on his bed there is  
anger flickering up in his chest the same anger that drives Batman that gives Batman strength the same anger that chews up Bruce Wayne’s heart is beginning to slide through his blood

_Why didn’t you tell me?_ he asks quietly. The Joker shrugs, swallows, winces.

_Because you were gonna read it in my file anyway, and there’s no point in you getting all riled up twice._

_Riled up._ Wayne yanks the red flash drive out of the port with a little too much force but he doesn't care. _So why the hell didn't you tell your doctor._

 _They keep me so tranquilized that i can't even remember what month it is let alone what drugs they force down my throat,_ the Joker rasps. _i had no idea what he was giving me._

 _But how long have you been a patient at Arkham,_ Wayne asks his nemesis. _Four years? Five?_

_Something like that._ There’s amusement playing across the Joker’s beautiful paintstreaked face which pisses Wayne off more makes him want to punch something.

Not the Joker, but something.

_So after five years your doctor neglected to note that the only drug you are allergic to is penicillin. Was it not in your file. Does he not care._ Wayne’s voice is rising steadily  
but he can’t stop it  
doesn’t stop it  
does not stop it he just can’t _there are a number of antibiotics that are effective in treating strep throat,_ Wayne goes on half shouting

_Bruce—_

_and all he had to do was select any one of them BESIDES a pcn and you would have been fine in three days but instead you ended up in the emergency room with your airways swollen shut._ The Joker rolls his reddened eyes. 

_In case you’ve forgotten, one of Arkham’s top psychiatrists tested manufactured and distributed a deadly hallucinogenic poison in the basement for nearly six months before the Batman or anybody else caught on_ , he drawls. _It’s a pretty fucked up place, i thought you knew this._

_i do, but you're comparing a simple case of malpractice to a psychotic hostile takeover attempt._ Wayne crawls across the mattress reaches over to touch the washcloth on the clown’s grimy brow, frowns when he feels that it’s already warm. He removes it dips it into the bowl of water on the bedside table and folds it across the Joker’s forehead again. 

_That feels nice,_ the Joker sighs. 

_i can look into getting you committed somewhere else,_ Wayne persists. _i have connections._

 _For the last time, i was fine,_ the clown insists. _Don’t worry your pretty little head over it._

_You are anything but fine,_ Wayne retorts. _They had to intubate you. Your average blood pressure over the next twelve hours was what_ —he pauses to check the notes— _fifty over eighty. Unfuckingbelievable._

_Yeah._ The Joker grins dreamily as if he’s recalling a fond childhood memory. _Lots of fun had by all parties involved…_

_So if being that sick wasn’t a big deal to you then why did you leave,_ Wayne demands. _Why did you come to find me_. 

_Does it matter?_ the Joker asks. _Do yourself a favor and don’t get involved in the Joker’s personal shit okay. You will regret it._ He overemphasizes the last four words and Wayne knows deep down that he’s right. _Listen Bruce Wayne,_ the clown continues, _i know that hospital like the back of my hand and i would have been okay had i chosen to remain there; i'm a big boy and i can take care of myself._ The Joker’s eyes dry lightning flash and his fingers twitch and Wayne’s heart stutters. _But i didn’t want to stay, i wanted to be with you. i called a time out._

Wayne raises his eyebrows remembering. Then the anger begins to drain away, his fists unclench themselves. _i’m sorry,_ he says after a second. _i’ll stop. You need to sleep._

_i don’t really sleep._

_You need to try. i'll wake you at midnight so you can take your antibiotic._ Wayne rolls off the edge of the bed grabs a wifebeater and a pair of pajama pants from his dresser and helps the Joker change  
arranges the pillows and blankets  
brings him two hydrocodone a promethazine and gatorade that he doesn’t want to drink but Wayne insists, puts an arm around him while he chokes down three pills and lemon-lime. 

_Sorry,_ Wayne murmurs as he takes the bottle away. _i know it hurts._

_Pain don’t hurt,_ the Joker sighs but Wayne can almost smell the shutdown on him  
can almost feel the tired grind in his muscles when he moves and the thing is (the truly frightening thing is) Wayne knows that the Joker could in his current condition easily spend another twelve hours on his feet could still kill quickly  
or slowly  
and without mercy he could fend for himself the way he always has and yet. And yet. 

The Joker had sought Wayne out, is seeking solace in him now. 

And Wayne gives freely, because  
apparently that’s what they do for one another, every once in a very great while. 

They care for one another.

Before Wayne quite realizes what he’s doing he’s undressed down to his boxers  
he’s sliding under the silk sheets (germs be damned) so that he can wrap his arms around the Joker’s tremoring form  
wrap the blanket around them both  
hold the burning body close the Joker  
is far too warm under the covers for Wayne to be comfortable and he’s damp from perspiration and his usual bloodsweatgunpowder scent is tainted with the distinct sick smell of infection but Wayne holds him anyway, takes his hand kisses the bandages over his knuckles and says _get some rest i’ll be right here._

As they settle against each other the little beacon of peace that the Joker had hung up in the back of Wayne’s mind a lifetime (seventeen months) ago siphons a little more fuel from what’s left of Wayne’s corroded core and the lantern shines from the inside out _i missed the way you smell when it’s just you and me_ and christ did he say that out loud did he just

_Don’t drip your sap on me Bruce Wayne,_ the Joker murmurs in response, but there’s a lilt in his voice and he's smiling so Wayne pulls the Joker closer to him tips his cheek against the top of his nemesis’s head turns on the television and lets his brain go numb doesn’t think about what he’s done about what it means about how he feels he doesn’t think 

he does not think

he does not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Joker talking about wanting a time out references a conversation he and Bruce had in [this chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/941970/chapters/1837387) of i Wanna Be Your Dog. 
> 
> *A PCN is any antibiotic in the penicillin family. The Joker's allergy is mentioned in i Wanna Be Your Dog. 
> 
> The line "Pain don't hurt" is from the film [Road House](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lseeA7UInBk).


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes he sleeps.

Sometimes he doesn’t. 

Sometimes he bolts up torn from some remnant dream and begins to laugh and doesn’t stop even as he chokes on saliva  
and Wayne can only wait until the fit subsides can only sit with him rub his back give him ice chips to soothe his abused throat Wayne 

knows that a fever under a hundred and four is not dangerous but it's preventing the Joker from resting, Wayne  
tries to keep him comfortable so that he can sleep helps him stay hydrated holds him when he shivers and sponges his skin with cool water but still the Joker’s body burns  
as if everything the man has ever set aflame is seeking vengeance upon him in a similar fashion, and all at once

then

it’s nearly four in the morning and Wayne didn’t mean to fall asleep he’s jolted into awareness by sudden movement he’s reaching blindly for the man beside him before he even turns on the lamp, feels the heat coming off the Joker’s skin before his hand makes contact with his shoulder. With his free hand Wayne switches the light on sending a burst of red spots swimming across his vision. He blinks until his eyes adjust and regards his nemesis who despite the illness and fever and his generally grimy state manages to look beautiful

sitting in a sea of black silk with both legs drawn up and his chin resting on his knees, dually lit by the lamplight and television glow. 

_i’m okay,_ he breathes heavy into the stillness of the large room. 

He doesn’t look okay. His hair is wet with sweat, his eyes are lost like he’s still half in his head and his lips are very pale beneath the thick red paint.

_What did you dream about,_ Wayne asks but the clown doesn’t answer. He doesn’t react when Wayne takes his temperature (101.8) and pinches the skin on the back of his hand (mild dehydration) although he at least makes eye contact when Wayne kneels beside him and says _tell me what hurts._

_Hurts?_ The Joker tilts his head to one side and his tongue darts out and he seems to consider hard for a few moments before he answers: _Everything._

_Can you be more specific?_ The clown just stares at Wayne blankly. _Okay. We’ll work with that,_ he says quietly, more to himself than to the Joker. He takes a bottle of gatorade from the nightstand and holds it out and the clown shakes his head.

_Not yet. i don’t think i can keep it down._

_Aw, sugs…_ Wayne moves the trash bin within reach and rests his hand on the back of the Joker's neck. _Did this just start or were you feeling sick earlier?_

_It comes and it goes. When i had that allergic reaction i puked a lot and i haven’t eaten since then._ The other man leans into Wayne's touch but doesn't unfold himself or raise his head. _It could be from the antibiotic too. i'm pretty nauseated but i think if i sit up for a minute i'll be fine._

_We can wait a little while,_ Wayne agrees. _But you do need fluids as soon as you feel up to it._ The Joker makes a negative sound. _Do you want me here or do you need some space,_ Wayne asks. 

_Just…stay,_ the Joker mutters over his shoulder. 

_Of course i’ll stay. Come here,_ Wayne murmurs and the words come out sounding soft and warm and gentle and he can’t remember the last time his voice sounded like that or the last time he’d spoken to anybody like that. The Joker obeys, turns around allows Wayne to draw him in. 

_Thanks,_ he whispers against Wayne’s collarbone generating a hot buzz against his skin that strikes sparks lights up his nerves makes him smile like nothing else can 

and he doesn’t know why 

and he doesn’t care 

because he can always have a complex about it later, after the Joker is long gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand another chapter gets split in two, which means the end is farther away x__x Oh well, i'm sure y'all don't mind.
> 
> Also if you've never had strep throat as an adult, in my experience the pain was a hundred times worse than when i was a kid and lasted longer too. i mean the Joker's tougher than a bucket of nails but yeah anaphylaxis on top of a strep infection would render most people unable to care for themselves let alone pull a jailbreak and run around in the rain... And my headcannon reasons that the Joker has a ridiculously high drug tolerance so most painkillers would barely take the edge off, poor baby :'(


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the Joker drains a third of a gatorade bottle

the sun has broken Gotham’s horizon and the bedroom is filled with cold grey light.

 _You should take a break if your throat hurts too much,_ Wayne advises as he settles back onto the bed with a bowl of cereal in his lap.

 _It’s not that bad._ The clown takes another sip but Wayne doesn’t miss the quick scowl of pain that flashes across his face. 

_You’d say ‘it’s not that bad’ even if you were flatlining on the operating table,_ Wayne remarks. _Take an hour break and see if you can sleep._

_Two hours sounds better._

_One,_ Wayne says as sternly as he can around a mouthful of cocoa puffs. _Then you need to drink more. We’re not fucking around with dehydration and hypoglycemia and painkillers this time._

 _Yeah,_ his nemesis chuckles weakly. _That wasn’t my most glamorous moment—lying on your bathroom floor while you cleaned blue gatorade vomit out of my hair…_

 _Which is why i got lemon-lime,_ Wayne tells him. _At least it will blend in with your hair dye._ The Joker laughs again and screws the lid back on, sets the bottle aside then

the smallest wisp of something passes in his expression causing Wayne’s heart to thump unexpectedly like he’s just slipped walking down a flight of stairs and even though  
the moment passes  
and his nemesis smiles at him again  
Wayne has seen that look **(i don’t want to feel like this anymore)** reflected in the mirror in his own face a hundred times before and seeing that in the Joker  even in the smallest of measures  
chips at his composure a bit.

He shovels in a few more bites of cereal and sets the bowl aside, begins searching for the thermometer.

_It’s on the bathroom counter,_ the Joker rasps and Wayne goes after it without asking how the hell the clown knew what he was looking for.

* * *

_A hundred and three point one,_ Wayne reads off the display. _That's to be expected; it's been five hours since you had any acetaminophen. You can take two hydrocodone_

_Three_

_but you can’t have another promethazine until_ —Wayne checks his phone, does some drug math— _seven thirty. Will you be able manage the nausea until then?_

_Sure._

_Why…do i not believe you?_ Wayne asks sadly as he begins to stack up his memory foam pillows so that the Joker can recline without lying flat.

_i feel better,_ the Joker insists. _i slept, i can tolerate fluids, i’ve been on antibiotics for over forty-eight hours, ya done good. i never doubted that. So please, stop worrying._ He flicks his hair back sending droplets of perspiration flying from the ends of his ropy curls. _And now i can swallow my saliva which is always a plus. i could kill ten or fifteen armed guards, no problem_

_i have no doubt that you could,_ Wayne interrupts. _But it's time to settle down. You’ve had a rough night._

_i always have a rough night, especially when i’m on the outside,_ the clown drawls. _i’m a fucking crime lord, i live for rough nights_

_Lie down._ Wayne presses the Joker into the pillows with the lightest application of force and he doesn’t resist, although he catches Wayne’s wrist on the way down and tugs until they’re both reclined against the pillow heap amidst smears of red and white and somehow the Joker feels so damned right  
tucked up into Wayne’s embrace and if Wayne moves up a bit higher—right there—he can fit the other man’s head under his chin can breathe in the  
bloodsweatgunpowder with sweat dominating and god he missed that smell 

the Joker presses back into him relaxes febrile and pliant into his arms and all Wayne can do is hang on to him all he can do is hang on and marvel at the fact  
that he alone wields the power to instill this brand of tranquil submission in one of the country's most notorious psychopaths when Batman and the rest of the world can barely leave a mark on him the idea  
is almost as beyond Wayne as the rush warmth he feels in return when the Joker smiles at him or hugs him then he  
picks up the remote turns up the television volume tries not to focus on how screwed he might very well be if he's unwilling to let go this time Wayne

stays there, wrapped around the Joker  
stroking his hair  
keeping him warm  
until he stops shivering and his breathing evens out.

When Wayne’s sure that the Joker is asleep he carefully disentangles himself kisses the Joker’s forehead (twice) and heads for the kitchen,  
wiping the white paint off his lips as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, so i just want to thank all of you who have left comments and kudos. It's great to know that my work makes other people as happy as it makes me. So thank you, y'all are the best, seriously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On cereal, cult horror classics, and possibly getting in too deep.

When he walks out of the bathroom still damp from the shower Wayne’s heart does the tripping on the stairs thing again because the Joker isn’t in his bed or even in the bedroom, but then he catches the scent of fresh coffee drifting in through the open bedroom door  
and relaxes. 

He pulls a t-shirt over his head makes his way to the kitchen and finds the Joker sitting at his kitchen island slumped over his marble countertop wearing one of  
his robes (black, satin) reading  
his newspaper drinking a cup of  
his coffee

and it’s almost too much to believe, Wayne thinks, that things have gotten this far. 

He goes over.

The Joker’s hair is pinned back from his face with a green plastic barrette, his makeup is nearly gone except for the odd white patch and two nearly identical rings of black that have collected around his eyelashes and  
the last smudges of red that frame his scars and his mouth. Wayne’s eyes catch on the perfect cupid’s bow of the Joker’s lip while his mind catches on a flash of the Joker’s soft mouth pressed against his as they stood on Wayne’s balcony watching the snow fall

 _Shouldn’t you still be resting?_ Wayne asks as he reaches into the cabinet for a coffee cup. The Joker glances at Wayne with fondness flickering in his eyes and doesn’t speak, instead he takes the thermometer from his pocket  
places the tip in his ear and pushes the button as he imitates a gunshot sound with frightening accuracy. It beeps a moment later and he holds it out for Wayne to see the display without looking up from the page he’s reading.

 _A hundred and one,_ Wayne reads aloud, a little disbelievingly. He touches the backs of his fingers to the Joker’s cheek. _You haven’t taken any acetaminophen in a while so it looks like your fever’s coming down on its own._ His nemesis nods, reaches for the half-full french press. 

While the Joker pours him coffee Wayne pours himself a bowl of fruity pebbles and almond milk (unflavored, unsweetened) and sits on a barstool across from the other man, looks him over. He’s still flinching faintly whenever he swallows but but Wayne can tell just from a cursory glance that he’s already stronger, more alert, in less pain. 

It never ceases to fascinate Wayne, how quickly the Joker’s body seems to recover. It’s as if  
the man can knit broken bones and heal wounds and kill bacteria through the sheer force of his iron will. 

_How’s your headache,_ Wayne asks.

 _Manageable._

_You said that earlier, even when the light from the television hurt your eyes._

_Because most pain is manageable,_ the clown sighs, closing the newspaper with resignation. _i’m not dying. i’m just not at my best._

 _A few hours ago you were in bad shape,_ Wayne reminds him. _You have to take it slow._

 _i was getting stiff from lying around,_ the Joker protests. _It’s not like i got very far. Just let me finish my fucking coffee and i’ll return to my convalescence without further complaint, you have my word._

 _You should eat first,_ Wayne says as he downs a final soggy bite of cereal. _i can make whatever you want._ He slides the brightly colored box over and fills his bowl again. 

_i’ll try,_ the Joker says flatly as he watches Wayne shovel multicolored rice flakes into his mouth. _Are you gonna finish off that entire box or what._

_Yes._

_Jesus Wayne,_ the clown snickers. _i already knew you were a closet junkfood addict but that’s intense._

_Shut your whore mouth,_ Wayne grumbles, and the Joker smiles serenely. _i could in fact eat this whole box of cereal with milk,_ Wayne continues, _and it wouldn’t make up for a tenth of the calories i burned over the past three days. And in fact that’s exactly what i intend to do, right now._

 _You’re setting yourself up for a nasty sugar crash later,_ the other man warns but Wayne just shrugs. 

_i’ll sleep through it. i haven’t gotten much lately so i’ll probably crash for eight hours straight._

_i’m sorry that i kept you up._ The Joker sounds genuinely sincere which is more disturbing to Wayne than he wants to admit. _i mean i’ve never been a sound sleeper but i don’t usually pull Heather Langenkamps in the middle of the night._

 _Don’t be sorry,_ Wayne tells him. _Because one: i didn’t mind staying up to take care of you and two: hearing you apologize is just too fucking creepy for me okay._

 _Okay,_ the Joker chuckles. Wayne dumps the remaining cereal into the rainbow milk puddle in his bowl and digs his spoon in  
ignoring his nemesis’s amused smirk. 

_And anyway, you weren’t nearly as dramatic as Heather Langenkamp,_ Wayne remarks after a minute, making the other man laugh again. _Do you like that movie,_ Wayne asks.

 _A nightmare on elm street?_ The Joker frowns at him. _Are you seriously asking me that? i consider myself one of Kruger’s fucking protégés, Wayne. He’s a man after my own heart…_

 _I have the d v d. Come watch it with me._ Wayne hops off his chair, winces as his left ankle throbs but he’s used to it (when it comes to resilience he's got nothing on the Joker but still) he's so used to so many different kinds of pain. _Tell me what you want to eat i’ll get it for you and we’ll watch a movie._

 _Isn’t it a little early for horror films,_ the Joker sighs. Wayne moves to stand in front of him.

 _Come on,_ he wheedles, and gets closer  
until he’s standing between the Joker’s knees. _If you get scared i’ll hold your hand._

_Is anyone else in the world aware that underneath the billionaire playboy facade you’re a sweetheart, Bruce Wayne?_ the Joker teases. _i hope not. i don’t want to share this side of you with anyone else._ He hooks his index fingers around Wayne’s belt loops and smiles up at him and

it’s at times like this when Wayne can look into the Joker’s eyes and still find the same sparks of malice there but the intensity is dulled (pain/fever/opiates) to a point where Wayne sees something in him besides insanity Wayne can see  
a genuine glow in his rival’s crooked grin that’s something akin to contentment whenever Wayne reaches for him. 

_Please tell me that you didn’t feel obligated to take me with you,_ the clown says to him. _Tell me that’s not what we’re about._

_i didn’t. It’s not._

_i would have understood if you’d kicked my ass to the curb._

_i know._ Wayne rests his hand on the Joker’s hip. 

_i suppose i should thank you,_ the clown says quietly. _For, you know. Not doing that._

Suddenly Wayne finds himself looking through the other man instead of at him finds himself back  
at that exact moment  
where he stands staring down at the Joker sitting in the Tumbler but this time Wayne puts his cowl back on grabs the Joker by the collar rips him out of the car  
and peels out into the street leaving the clown sprawled on the asphalt the mere conjectured image 

has Wayne swallowing the ache in his throat leaves him closing  
his eyes tight against the beginnings of what could become tears then

in a span of three seconds he has taken the Joker’s face in both hands kissed his cheeks and crushed him into an embrace and this time Wayne  
doesn’t fight the rush warmth that has risen to his surfaces that burns bright that casts Batman’s anger and conviction and frigidity into shadow as the man in his arms melts into him without a word Wayne barely registers his actions as he brings his fingers up  
to cradle the back of the Joker’s head 

as if his skull is made of porcelain 

as if it’s some precious thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. This fic is taking turns i didn't expect. i never intended for Bruce to start getting attached but apparently the boys had other ideas so. There you have it. Also i feel like this chapter is stupid and i hate most of it and i don't know why but what's done is done.
> 
>  ***Also** my Bruce Wayne will always be a fatty at heart who eats healthy most of the time but doesn't want to, and mows down on junk food occasionally. This little trait is so totally not based on personal experience... just kidding it totally is.
> 
>  **03/03/2016:** HEY just so y'all know this fic is far from abandoned, it's just taking me forever. i work on it every single day so don't worry, i couldn't leave this story unfinished if i tried. In the meantime if anybody cares to read my rants on writing batjokes or wants to look at my Batman stuff feel free to come say hi on [my batjokes tumblr](http://batjokesfuckina.tumblr.com/) and we can talk about gay clowns ok.
> 
>  **04/17/16:** I'm still working on it friends, keep up the faith  <3
> 
>  **09/09/16:** Yyyeah i'm still working on it : / Sorry frands
> 
>  **10/30/16:** *pops up from under a pile of drafts* HI i'm working on the next chapter harder than ever now. Thank for patience, frands


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